Alive
by gote
Summary: Do you know what it's like, to feel alive? -GinnyHermione, for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competion, Round Seven.


_**prompt:** 'Sink' this ship (RonHermione) using this character (Ginny)_

_**competition: **The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round Seven_

**Alive**

This was Ginny, who wouldn't pretend she didn't get afraid but hated nothing more than feeling so.

This is Ginny, who wouldn't ever let herself fall apart, but may have been doing so anyway.

Her feelings were the cart ride down to a Gringott's vault, and she was growing sick from the turns and the jolts. She had a heart like a dragon, wild and proud and free. She wished she could rear it in, chain it down, command it to stop chasing these hopeless dreams. She wished she could have it obey.

She had eyes but they weren't really her own. They couldn't be. If they were hers, they'd obey her will. They seemed to have a life of their own, always trailing after all the wrong people.

She refused to believe they could know her better than she knew herself.

"I don't want to ruin everything, but I think I love you."

She could only say the words to the mirror. Then, when she splashed her face clean, she threw the water over the mirror too. She was sick of that face, sick of what was behind it.

No one could truly believe things were perfect. No, they'd been broken long ago. But Harry had held her hands on that sunny day and things had felt pretty close. "This is perfect," he'd said.

But what she'd heard was _this is as good as it is going to get._

Restless, restless energy. Stupid girl.

Ginny paced the living room, the kitchen. She flashed looks out the window and hated the anger that weighed on her heart at the sight she knew she'd see every time she looked.

"Do you know what you are?" she muttered to herself. With a wave of her wand she opened each cupboard door wide. "The worst kind of person." She slammed them shut once again. "You only want what you can't have."

The couple outside, sipping tea under the evergreens, lounged on. Oblivious. Bursts of laughter pricked at Ginny's ears.

"Do you know what?" Ron had said to her, sitting down beside her at breakfast, on the patio as the new day dawned bright. His red hair was a crazy straw-like mess but his eyes had been bright and alive. He'd tugged at her own, equally red, but pin-straight hair, because that's what brothers do, and she'd thought of Fred. He'd shaken his head like he could barely believe it. "I'm happy," he said, "I'm really happy."

It was the miracle of life, it was new days, it was peace. It was the girl he got to hold in his arms, to kiss her and know how lucky he was.

"I'm happy for you," she'd said, and hugged him tight. She hadn't realised until later, that she should have said she felt the same.

It hadn't even occurred to her.

Ginny wished people would stop sharing how the felt with her. It'd be easier to think about hurting them if she didn't know the extent of the damage she could do.

She missed the days of innocence, she missed when everything felt without consequence. She missed when forever stretched out before them and it felt boundless and it was welcome.

Then later she'd learned to fight, and had to fight to stay alive, and fight to want to keep on living. Maybe she'd grown up too fast but now she missed having a purpose. Ginny wasn't made for inconsequential days of nothingness. Ginny wasn't made for sameness.

Ginny didn't know what she was made for, she just knew that she wanted to find out. She wanted to push at the boundaries just to see how far they could stretch, to find how far she could go. She wanted to travel to every land on Earth. She wanted a thousand different loves.

She wanted just one.

Do you know what it's like to be alive with relentless energy? To have a foot that won't stop tapping, and fingers that do the same? To have an eye always seeking that horizon, and feet that won't stop until they reach it (and then the next one and the next one and the one after that).

There's something about death that makes one think a lot about life. There's something about life that has one think a lot about regrets.

Somehow she was alive and it was up to her to make it count. It was a precious gift and one she needed to use well - for all the people who wouldn't ever have a chance to do the same. All those happy endings torn apart, hopes and wishes and dreams left to shrivel and die.

It hadn't seemed a possibility for a while, but now the days were endless. The sun took a lifetime to set and another to rise, and there were so many hours to lie about and think of being old.

When you're frail and grey and you can't get up from your bed, you're left there with nothing but memories, the gaps in which you fill with regrets.

Maybe she did have some purpose. Maybe there was something left to do. She was a hunter, she was a killer, and potential regrets were her prey.

"You need to slow down," Harry said to her, tracing the blue crescents under her eyes. "You're wearing yourself out."

"Harry-" she'd said, the word a choked sob. "There'll never be enough hours in all the lives to do all that there is to do." It's what made it worse, that she knew that, yet she was trying all the same. "I need to kiss everyone that I can kiss, so they won't die not knowing the taste of me, nor me of them."

And she'd kissed him, hard, because she wanted to. And she'd left him, dazed, confused, because she wanted to.

To Ron she said, "You're my brother and I'll always love you. I'll always want you to love me, although I'll understand if you won't."

And to Hermione she said, "In another life-" and she broke off, shaking her head. "We don't have another life, and so I need to do it in this one. Even though it's not made for here, even though it'll tear everything apart. There's only one chance."

She thought she saw tears shining in very open brown eyes, and something akin to understanding. Whether this was real, or just a product made so by the strength of wishing, Ginny leaned in and kissed the girl she wanted to kiss.


End file.
